


Drinking in Sunshine

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Light Angst, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, the vault girl is terrifying, Hancock thinks. And she is just his kind of trouble.</p>
<p>A series of somewhat chronological drabbles detailing the exploits of Sole Survivor Rose and Mayor John Hancock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It only takes two weeks for Hancock to come to the conclusion that the vault girl is terrifying.

Sure, Rose looks innocent enough as she tinkers with her armor, sewing in ballistic fibers here and there. As usual, her pink tongue is out to the side as she pushes the needle to and fro, pausing to every so often to whine at the new pinprick in her thumb. Hell, she looks downright  _ domestic _ as she does so, and Hancock swears there hasn't been a soul this innocent in the Commonwealth since the beginning of time.

But the mayor knows better. He's been there, with her, in the heat of battle. When she fires her laser pistol, the red glow illuminates a hatred in her eyes like he's never seen. She rains down Molotov cocktails like hellfire, and hot  _ damn  _ if it wasn't sexy. However, when the adrenaline subsides and Rose’s breathing comes to a slow, she turns to him and there's that damn  **smile** again. The brightest, sunniest shit you could ever see.

“Look alive, mayor!” Her voice is a clear bell that brings him back to the present, and Hancock forgets that his eyes are locked onto that pink tongue of hers. His black eyes meet hers and he smirks, unabashed.

“Need somethin’, sister?” Rose’s eyebrow quirks skeptically before she giggles, holding up her newly-sutured vault suit with pride. She slips it over her tank top and shorts, zipping it and posing sardonically.

“What do you think?” She teases, striking a new pose. Hancock is sure her intentions are pure, but there's nothing pure about the fabric that hugs her every curve, leaving little to the imagination.

“Not bad, sister.” He holds his tongue for once because she looks so damn  **proud** of herself. Rose was one of the few good and honest things left in this hell of a life, and he wouldn't be the first one to tarnish her. “You're a natural.”

There's a satisfied glow in her eyes for a brief moment before a bullet pierces the wall beside her, then another. “Shit!” Hancock hisses, pulling Rose to ground level for cover.

“Thanks,” she manages as she reaches for her laser rifle, aiming down the sights. Her finger squeezes the trigger, and the red glow illuminates her like a mythic angel of death.  
  
Yes, the vault girl is terrifying, Hancock thinks. And she is just his kind of trouble.


	2. Stars

More so now than before the war, Rose relishes in the light of the stars. 

 

Before the bombs, the stars were still there; an ever-present, faint reminder of their place in the universe. Had she not studied medicine, Rose thinks, astronomy would have been next on the list. Nate had even named a star after her on their anniversary, but she couldn't point it out. ‘Rose the gas giant’ was up there somewhere. 

 

“Maybe she's the lucky one.” The words escape her lips as a whisper. Rose pulls her sleeping bag farther up her body, enjoying the chill of the Commonwealth despite her goosebumps. Her eyes trace the sky, locating Venus’s faint yellow glow.

 

“Somethin’ bothering ya?” Hancock’s voice causes Rose to squeak in surprise, his resulting chuckle sending a new shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

 

“No, just stargazing.” Rose furrows her eyebrows in an attempt to focus on Venus more carefully, and not the mayor’s lean figure as he settles next to her.

 

“Heh, figured this was a tactical decision.” Hancock lets his hands sprawl out to his sides in a gesture to the top of the Starlight Drive-In screen. Rose hears the telling click of his flip-lighter and turns her head to the side, a faint glow illuminating the mayor’s irradiated skin as he lights a cigarette. “Guess my expectations were a little too high.”

 

“ _ No one _ is going to notice us,” Rose rolls her eyes. “We set up like, seven traps. Plus, it's impossible to see anything up here.” She doesn't notice that the mayor is inches from her shivering, lean form. Or rather, does her best not to notice. “The moon is in its waning crescent phase and--” 

 

“I get it, wise-ass; it’s dark, we’ve got a nice hidin’ place,” He sounds almost annoyed, and Rose stifles a good-natured giggle. “That  _ mouth _ of yours is going to get you into trouble sometime soon, sister.” 

 

The double-entendre is in every syllable that passes Hancock’s tongue. She  **knows** he's a ghoul, that she's married to a ghost, and the last thing in this hell she needs is a damn crush on this stupid mayor, yet Rose’s cheeks flush and radiate into the night.

 

There's a short pause as she composes herself well enough to respond, and for Hancock to take a short, triumphant drag from his cigarette, the smoke escaping into the stars.

 

“Well,” Rose manages to squeak out, “at least I have you to watch my back, right?” It was true -- Hancock had probably saved her more times than she could count. He lets out a short grunted laugh.

  
“Heh. The two of us? The world ain't got a prayer.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief flashback to when Rose and Hancock decide to travel together.

"Well, it's not that I'm saying that I _don’t_ believe you…" Rose finds their location highly unlikely: under Diamond City? Hell, even Mel himself voiced his doubts, and he hadn't even half the training Rose had before the bombs fell. So, why was Bobbi so insistent?

"But you don't believe me." Bobbi ends the sentence with a haughty air Rosa doesn't quite appreciate. "One way to find out. Let's go on ahead."

"Lead the way." Rose is glad she sounds more confident than she feels as she trails behind the ghoul, 10mm armed and ready at her side. As much as she hates mire lurks, this stupid excavation had better be damn well worth it.

Fahrenheit is the last person she expects to see waiting for them, and yet there she stands. It is all Rose can do to persuade Bobbi to leave while she has the chance, and thanks every god known to man that Bobbi takes it. The last thing Rose wants to do is piss off Hancock, someone who stabbed a man right in front of her, and takes it upon herself to seek him out for an apology.

"So, you see, it was, um, a really big misunderstanding. I'm so sorry!!" Rose sputters at a nonplussed Hancock, who puts his hands up in a calming motion.

"Hey, no hard feelings, sister. Thanks for protecting the stash." The mayor contemplates a moment, pulling at the edges of his tricorner hat. "I wonder. I woulda been proud to scheme with Bobbi just a few years ago. Am I becomin’ some sorta tyrant?"

Rose quirks an eyebrow, letting Hancock muse to himself. "'Bout time I get outta this town, don't ya think? Stretch the old bones a little, so I don't forget what it's like out there."

"You can just _leave_?" Although a little shortsighted in the post-war politics department, Rose thinks, surely he would need to stay in his own town. "But what about the people here, don't they need you?"

"Nah, they don't need me to tell ‘em what’s what. We've got some good hearts here, kid." Hancock seems sure, while Rose chooses to ignore the quip at her age.

"Well, if you're going to travel," the words leave her lips before she even stops to think, "why not travel with me?" _Shit. Yeah, totally, travel with the dumbass that almost robbed you blind, great idea._

"Hm, I like the sound of that." Rose doesn't need to meet the mayors gaze to hear that damn **smirk** in his teasing tone. Her cheeks emit heat like a beacon as he adds, "You seem like just my kind of trouble."

"Trouble?" Rose ignores Hancock’s salacious grin, using every fiber of her being to keep her stupid nerves in check. "You're looking at the only gal in the whole Commonwealth who can prevent just as much trouble as she causes. Still interested?"

"Even more, now that you mention it." There's that damn grin again, present in his every expression and syllable. "Give me a minute to address the town, let ‘em know the details."

Rose feels warm, awed as the people of Goodneighbor hang on to the mayor’s every word. There’s a fire in him that ignites his people as they chant "Of the people, for the people," and then disperse.

The mayor turns to her. "Come on, let's get this freak show on the road." And Rose feels a kindling, unfamiliar light that only burns brighter as she follows Hancock out of Goodneighbor and into the pits of the Commonwealth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the fact that Mentats raise perception, and that Wastelanders with glasses can very easily be screwed.

“Raiders, twelve o’clock!” Rose hisses at Hancock, turning on her heel to fire Titan (her affectionately-titled laser rifle) at the nearest raider scum in her path. Hancock is already in the throes of combat, as she hears the telling smack of his rifle on bone. Her first shot misses, and Rose takes a moment to steady herself before firing again, vaporizing the raider into ash. 

 

“Rose!” Hancock’s desperation comes too late -- a raider manages to catch her off guard, catching the side of her face with a mean right hook and knocking the glasses clean off her face. 

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” She breathes, firing a shot into the raider’s gut. The blast makes its mark, and the raider falls to the ground next to her. “Hancock,” He seems to notice the helplessness in her tone as she sits straight and paws at the ground, eyes contorted in a futile attempt to see. The blossoming bruise on her cheek seems to be the least of her worries.

 

“Oh, hell, kid,” The mayor may have been blessed with perfect eyesight, but he could see the panic in her figure as she searched for the lenses. 

 

Poor sight meant no reconnaissance, no scouting, no ranged weapons, no identifying friend or foe -- it would mean a handicapped life, a dependent existence she knew she would resent. There would be no life for her in the Wasteland if she didn’t have glasses. 

 

“Hey, uh, Rose,” Hancock calls out to her gently, and she looks up to see his figure towering over her, holding faint blobs she assumes to be her glasses in his hand. He doesn’t want to tell her, doesn’t want to see the look on her face, yet when he extends the lenses to her, Rose’s crystal gaze damn near breaks his heart. She wordlessly takes the frames and slides them back to their home on the bridge of her nose. The right lens holds a crack that trails from one edge to the other. They no longer sit like they should, and she knows it. 

 

“You alright?” The mayor’s cautious tone is enough to break her. She knows she should be strong, that this open street in Lexington is no place for tears, that people like her are the first to die in the Wasteland, yet she finds herself furiously swiping at the hot trails down her cheeks. 

 

“Fine,” Rose chokes out with great effort, and  **_fucking hell_ ** her cheek really starts to hurt. The cracks in her lens make depth perception nigh impossible, and Hancock grabs her wrist before she can stumble two more steps down the uneven concrete.

 

“Rosie,” The nickname is new, and is enough to distract her. The dull ache in her cheek seems tame as he pulls her closer, bending ever-so-slightly to meet her at eye level. “Stop,” he growls, and his tone is low, guttural, yet somehow gentle. Hancock reaches into his pocket to pull out a tin of mentats, taking two in his hand and stowing the tin. 

 

“Open your mouth,” She misses the small grin that twitches at his lips, and is hesitant. Rose only ever takes chems in extreme situations, and this hardly seems to qualify. 

 

“I said I'm _ fine _ ,” Rose insists, and tries to pull away, but she's a bullshit liar and Hancock's grip on her wrist only tightens. 

 

“Just open your damn mouth, kid, and trust me,” She can see there's no reasoning at this point. Obediently, Rose parts her lips, avoiding Hancock’s teasing gaze before he places the tablets on her tongue, fingers rough and torn but ever so careful as they pass her lips.

 

She's not sure how the chems are supposed to help. They dissolve and Rose opens her mouth a second time to speak, until the edges of her vision become focused. The world around her is sharp, even through her cracked lens. The mayor sees the recognition in her eyes and releases her from his grasp.

 

“To tide you over, y’know, until we --” He stops as Rose throws her arms around his neck. She pulls him close in a tight embrace, face buried in the dip of his shoulder.

  
The words are muffled, but he hears a choked “Thank you” as he places a hand on her head and another around her lean frame, deciding then and there that this wasteland can take all it wants from him,  _ but it can never take  _ **_he_ ** **r** .


	5. Chapter 5

Rose had been in the Commonwealth for 3 months now. She had seen her share of shit: deathclaws popping out of the goddamn sewer, mutated green humans, giant-ass lobster fish, and the mother _ fucking _ roaches from Satan. Not to mention the gore, the murder, the stealth and corruption. 

 

So, why does the bigotry of a single jerk piss her off so much?

 

“Whoa, whoa. No ghouls in Diamond City.” His northern accent does nothing to hide the contempt in his tone. Rose is aware of the rules, but figures the mayor owes her for helping rescue Nick (and the subsequent capture of Doc Crocker after a botched reconstruction surgery). In fact, with all of the shit she does on a daily basis for the stupid city, she thinks she should be swimming in a pile of caps by now. 

 

The guard gestures to Hancock, who has a great poker face despite the clenched fist at his side. “Get that thing out of here.” 

 

And she's doesn't know what she's thinking, but Rose finds herself heaving over the now-unconscious guard, knuckles slowly bruising from impact with the exposed skin left by his mask.

 

“Rosie, what the hell?” As exasperated as Hancock sounds, Rose turns and sees a proud grin on his irradiated face. The reality of what she'd just done hits her like a Brahmin. 

 

“Oh my god, oh my god-- quick, move!” She hisses, pushing the mayor out of sight into the next alley before any citizen notices the city’s defensive force out cold. 

 

Once they’re at a safe distance, Rose sputters, “I don't- I don't know why I did that,” slowly massaging her knuckles. Her face is red with anger and embarrassment, but the ghoul doesn't seem to mind.

 

“I thought it was pretty impressive, myself.” Hancock’s grin is back full-force. “Look at you, standing up for this ugly mug. Never woulda bet any caps that I’d see you go off like that.”

 

“Well, I mean, I couldn’t just let him talk about you like that.” Rose realizes how small she feels when standing in front of him, how soft her voice is when she speaks to him. “You're a good friend, Hancock.”

 

“Friend, huh?” There's that  _ tone  _ again, and there's nothing friendly about the new glint in the mayor’s dark eyes. He takes a step towards her, and Rose finds herself rooted to the spot. Hancock lays a hand on her shoulder, leaning down slightly to meet her at eye level. “You sure that's what we are?  _ Friends _ ?”

 

“I thought-- I thought we were.” And suddenly Rose is  _ worried _ . Did he not think she cared for him? That she wouldn't lay down her life for him? She grasps his cheeks between her small hands, intending to clear the air. “I care about you, Hancock.” And her blue eyes pierce his. He stares back, grasps her chin in his fingers, and Rose feels warm under his touch. She can feel his breath on her lips, and realizes in this moment there is nothing more she wants than Hancock to take her to a place far from the hell of the Commonwealth.

 

“Hey-- that's her!!” A familiar northern accent splits the tension, and Hancock grumbles under his breath. Rose might as well be a tato at this point, as her cheeks had invented a totally new red on the color spectrum.

 

“Come on, doll,” Hancock’s voice is low and gentle as he grabs a mortified Rose by the elbow, pulling her deeper into the nooks and crannies of the Diamond City he knew as a kid. 

  
Rose can't take her eyes off of him, and prays to any gods left in the Commonwealth that Nate will forgive her for falling in love again.


	6. Chapter 6

Rose has been quiet since returning from the Institute, and it takes Hancock’s every ounce of willpower to avoid pushing the issue.

They've taken a break at Sanctuary, where the rest of her companions tread lightly in Rose’s presence. He sees it when she smiles, when she laughs; the light inside her has died, and he will do anything to see it ignite again.

“Rosie,” Hancock seems to break her from her musings, her gaze snapping up from her plate of Grilled Radstag. Seeing it’s him, the tension in her shoulders releases, and the mayor does his best to tame the smug grin tugging at his lips. “Mind if I join ya?” She nods almost imperceptibly.

He plops his carcass next to her at a comfortable distance, popping a few mentats. Rose is in some far-off place, only going through the motions of chewing and swallowing the Radstag before her.

“How ya holdin’ up, sister?” The question is innocent enough, Hancock thinks, but sees a strain in Rose’s answering grimace.

“I'm alright,” And the words are hollow. An angry fire wells up inside him, and Hancock vows to end whoever damaged the part of her he loves the most.

“Bullshit,” He does not accuse, only makes the statement and meets Rose’s challenging gaze. “You ain't gonna to make it far if you ain't got people to support you. What d’you think Goodneighbor would be without allies, morals? We’d be just like the rest of the shitholes scattered through the ‘Wealth.”

The plate of Radstag is now empty and placed at Rose’s side. She's listening, which is more than the others have gotten out of her the past two days. He uses the moment to his advantage, and holds up a marred hand to lightly cup her cheek. And good god is she soft underneath his touch.

“We all want you to be happy, Rosie. If some shit went down that you ain't proud of, we’re still here to take care of ya if you need us.” And there's a resolve in her that gives. Rose sinks into Hancock’s touch, and tells him everything. About Shaun, the Institute, her deadhusband -- everything.

“Damn,” is all he can manage, sliding a comforting arm across her shoulders as they shake with soft sobs. She hides her face in her hands, wiping tears away and stifling a pitiful sniff. As Rose looks back up at him, her eyes still glassy, she lets out an exasperated giggle.

“Never thought I’d be here with you, like this,” Hancock’s back stiffens, and she laughs in earnest this time at his surprised side-eye. “Not like-- No, I mean, remember when we met? You stabbed that poor guy right in front of me!”

“Finn? Bastard had it comin’ anyway,” Hancock gives her shoulder a little squeeze. “‘Specially if it meant meetin’ you.”

Rose chooses to stay silent, leaning into Hancock’s side. If nuclear annihilation lead her to him -- if it meant losing her son, her husband, her very way of life -- the universe had a sick way of redeeming itself. 


	7. Chapter 7

Hancock tries not to be offended when Rose asks MacCready to travel with her.

 

Hell, the kid is a damn good sharpshooter to have at her back, but the idea of Rose leaving without him… It hurts more than he’d care to admit, and Hancock wonders if he’d been imagining the side looks she’d give him, the gentle lingering touches. 

 

“I’ll be back before too long,” Her small smile almost looks guilty. Rose wraps her arms around his neck, and he relishes in the warmth she brings with her.

 

A very uncomfortable MacCready groans from behind her. “Geez, you two make me  **sick** .” He’s only half-kidding, but Hancock still shoots the merc a well-meaning glare. “Let’s get a move on, huh?”

 

Rose presses a quick kiss to Hancock’s cheek and whispers “Take care of yourself. Please.” before she’s out of his reach. MacCready gives him that  _ damn shit-eating grin _ as he salutes sardonically in the mayor’s direction. Their silhouettes disappear into the night before he even thinks to stop her, to tell her to stay. 

 

Before Hancock knows it, she's been gone three days and he's getting stir crazy. The jet was only taking a small edge off, and Piper’s constant harassment was not helping ease his thoughts.

 

“No offense, sister, but could ya maybe  **shut the fuck up** ?” He’s had enough of her constant interrogations.  _ What’s up with you and Blue? _ and  _ Those were some impressive puppy dog eyes back there, mayor. _ were only two samples of the three-day onslaught he’d endured. 

 

“ _ Geez _ , Hancock. Sorry.” Piper’s hands go up defensively as she takes a seat next to him in the dimly-lit pre-war home. The couch dips with her weight, and she angles to face Hancock as he takes another quick puff of jet, feeling the tension in his shoulders relax. “It’s just, well, I mean, I figured you would have said something to her by now, you know? You don’t seem to be the kind of guy for, uh,  _ subtlety _ .”

 

Hancock lets a small chuckle escape. “Got me there, sister.” There’s a moment of comfortable silence, and then, “Last thing Rosie needs is some freak like me gummin’ up her works, don’t ya think?”

 

“Freak or not, she seems to dig you, mayor,” Piper’s face twists into an expression of playful disgust. “For some  _ weird  _ reason. She was totally oblivious when I…. I mean, uh--”

 

“When you what?” Hancock’s teeth curl back over his torn lips in a threateningly smug manner, and Piper’s cheeks flare to match her trenchcoat.

 

“Uh, what was I saying? Did it get hot in here?” The journalist pulls at her collar and avoids the ghoul’s knowing gaze. His grin subsides to a small, knowing grimace. 

 

“Not gonna say I blame ya. The gal’s got something special about her, that’s for sure.” Hancock had seen it himself. While not usually the flare of romance, something about the vaultie kindled a light in those around her -- a light that hadn’t been seen in the Commonwealth in centuries. The light of hope, a passion, to start making things better.

 

“She’s-- She’s  _ wonderful _ .” Piper’s words are small, awed, and Hancock sees resigned love and admiration in her eyes. He wonders if he has that same, stupid expression when he talks about Rose. “Makes me wonder what she sees in you, hotshot.” ...And  _ there’s _ the condescending Piper he knows, back to the surface.

 

“Oh, please, I’m the smooth-talkin’-est ghoul in the Commonwealth,” And he’s only being halfway facetious. He doesn’t really know what Rose would see in him either, but chooses to say nothing as Piper snorts good-naturedly, clapping the ghoul on the back as she stands once more.

 

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how far that gets you, won’t we?” It sounds like a challenge, but Piper’s smile is genuine. “Come find me next time you need an alcohol fix. Danse seems to think he can out-drink any one of us and I could sure as hell use some company when Cait kicks his ass.” 

 

“I ain’t makin’ any promises,” He nods, snorting at the thought. 

 

“We’re placing bets, so just let me know, alright, champ?” She shoots Hancock a quick two-finger salute before he can no longer see her in the darkness outside. He lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and watching the smoke pervade the air in front of him. 

  
“Heh. Looks like Rosie’s got another admirer.” The words are spent on no one, and Hancock feels the Jet take over at last, sleep pulling at his eyes when the only thing he wants to do is watch the horizon for his blue-vault-ray of sunshine.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dammit, Mac, did you have to go and get yourself  _ shot _ ?” Rose hisses, pulling tightly at the makeshift tourniquet on his bicep. 

 

“Hey, watch the goods!” is the merc’s response as he grunts from the pressure. Rose inspects the wound quickly and ignores his whines to “just **leave it**.”

 

“Went clean through.” She whispers as she reaches into her bag, pulling out some spare cloth that was at least halfway sanitary. “Hold this.” Rose demands, pushing the cloth against his wound. MacCready gingerly places his opposite hand in place, face twisted with pain as she ensures he applies enough pressure.

 

“Just hang on,  **Mungo** .” She teases, whipping out some med-x and a stimpak. “This might sting a little. Sorry.” And the needle is in and out before he can blink, med-x tossed to one side and quickly replaced by the needle of the stimpak. MacCready flexes his fingers a bit to quell the tension in his muscles while Rose hikes her pack back on her shoulder.

 

“Keep it elevated and keep the pressure on.” MacCready is ready to groan more at the effort, but stops when Rose lifts _his_ pack onto her free shoulder. 

 

“What the hel- heck do you think you’re doing?” He chides, reaching for the pack. Rose is too quick and sidesteps his efforts.

 

“And what the hell did I say about your arm? Keep. the. pressure.” Rose puffs up and almost looks halfway intimidating. MacCready is quick to return his arm back to the recovery position. The rage in those blue eyes of hers wasn’t to be tested. He’d seen her down three raiders at once and would not be the next one to test his odds.

 

“Alright, keep your shirt on, Rosie.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Or don’t. Whatever.” He grumbles half-heartedly.

 

“ ** _Any_** way,” Rose looks like she’s about to lose her patience, straightening her chipped glasses on her nose. “Let’s get moving. We’re almost at Goodneighbor. Don’t want to keep Daisy waiting.”

 

And despite the literal weight on her shoulders, Rose trucks forward through the remains of Boston, laser rifle at the ready and gear in tow. MacCready follows along with begrudging silence, still unable to believe his idiocy got him shot. What a rookie move. 

 

Rose has taken point, eyes squinting ever-so-slightly to compensate for her damaged lenses.  _ How does she survive out here like that? _ thinks MacCready, eyes burning a hole in the back of her blue vault suit.  _ And where did she get medical training?  _ Wasn’t anywhere that offered that kind of thing in the Commonwealth, other than the Institute, and Mac knew better than to bring that up around her anymore. 

 

“Hey, uh, boss, when is this stuff supposed to kick in?” The pain in his arm continued despite the medication, and he was getting antsy not being able to hold a weapon.

 

“Flex and stretch your fingers into a fist every few seconds.” Rose doesn’t even bat an eye. She turns to look at his arm. “Looks like it’s already healing up nicely. Thank god for Stimpaks.”

 

MacCready does as told, feeling the muscles in his arm tense as he curls his fingers. After a few more seconds, the pain begins to subside. “Damn- Darn it, Rosie, why d’you always have to be right? Where did you learn this medical crap, anyway?”

 

The playful grin he could see in her profile dissipates, and her mouth turns down into a pitiful line. “Before the war.”

 

“What? You like, a doctor or something back in the dark ages?” He knew about her past -- they all did by now. But sometimes, in midst of flying shrapnel and lasers, he forgets she used to be **normal** , a housewife, and the reality of it never seems to sit right with him. 

 

“Sort of. More like a… field medic.” Rose shakes the gruesome images from her mind as best she can. That was a part of her past that she would  **really** rather leave behind. “I was trained in combat and medicine. I was actually on leave trying to get a medical degree before--”

 

“Shaun.” He doesn’t want her to finish the sentence. When her son’s name passes her lips, the innocence that radiates from her turns stone cold, like someone snuffing out a candle in the dead of night. He  _ hated _ it. “Alright, sorry, boss. Let’s get this serum to Daisy, and celebrate back at home, huh?”

  
Home.  _ Hancock _ . MacCready sees her shoulders tense in recognition, her skin flush, and decides, just this once, to let her live down that annoyingly adorable crush of hers.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite its ironically appropriate name, Sanctuary hadn’t truly felt like a home in months.

For Rose, it was a constant reminder of what happened to her family, and also what could have happened. Nate would have gone back to work in town while she took care of Shaun, medical degree on hold, and she would have been there for everything: the first steps, first words, his first day of school… Then she would have gone back to school, and they would have been happy. A family, whole.

Now, the only family she had in Sanctuary were a bunch of misfits too extraordinary to stay anywhere else, instead finding a strange sense of comfort in each other. They weren’t whole, nothing like the family she imagined, but they were together, and Rose loved them all for it.

So when the destroyed houses come over the horizon, illuminated by the setting sun in pinks and blues, she fights the urge to break into a complete and utter sprint.

“Come on, Mac, pick up the pace!!” Rose shuffles behind the merc and pushes him faster, MacCready grunting at the extra effort.

“You don’t pay me enough for this…” He mutters, playing along begrudgingly. Rose steps just ahead of him, confused.

“But I don’t pay you at all.” She stifles a good-natured snort, waltzing ahead of him over the wooden bridge.

“Don’t remind me.” The merc holds no grudge -- he was the one that wouldn’t let her pay him anything. In fact, now that the cure was en route to Duncan, MacCready couldn’t even consider asking Rose for anything ever again.

“Hey, I think that’s Piper!” Rose gives up trying to control herself. A blink later and she’s taken off across the bridge to Sanctuary, evening wind brisk against her cheeks as she charges towards the journalist.

Upon closer inspection the form is none other than Hancock himself, red trenchcoat and tricorner hat to match. He must have heard her footsteps, because he turns to face her, arms wide open and a bright grin on his smug face. She feels like an idiot for mistaking him for Piper, silently cursing the raider that broke her glasses all those weeks ago.

Rose takes Hancock’s posturing as an invitation and nearly topples them both over when she throws her arms around him, laughing all the while.

“Hey, there, Rosie,” His gruff voice resounds in her ear, and a shiver goes up her form at the sound of his voice. Rose doesn’t realize until now how much she loves the way her name sounds coming from his irradiated lips, and vows silently to never leave him behind again.

“Miss me?” She teases, pulling away slightly to meet the ghoul eye-to-eye. The shine in his eyes is earnest.

“More than you know, doll,” And the urge overwhelms her, an urge she has denied for so long, as Rose presses her lips to his.


	10. Chapter 10

Hancock’s entire being stiffens at the feeling of Rose’s lips on his.

Hot damn is she soft as her hands gently come to meet at the back of his neck, her body flush against his. It takes Hancock an inhuman amount of self-control to put his hands on her shoulders and gently push her away, instantly regretting it as her warmth recedes with her.

“Is something wrong?” Rose’s blue eyes penetrate his. Although his eyes are dark, he feels as if she can see through him, see every insecurity that hides underneath his suave exterior. He doesn’t like it, the vulnerability.

“Ah, it’s just--” MacCready has finally caught up and has no sense of decency as he waggles his eyebrows at the mayor from behind Rosie’s back, suggestive grin in place. Hancock subtlely flashes a middle finger in Mac’s direction, the merc shrugging and retiring to the closest house. “Do ya mind if we move somewhere a little more… out of the public eye?”

Rose flushes red, obviously completely unaware that she kissed the ghoul in broad daylight.

“Uh, yeah, sure. My house.” is all she can manage, taking his hand in hers and gently pulling him along. Hancock finds himself in a state of such euphoria that his heart quickens. This wasn’t some really long jet trip, was it? He searches the surroundings with his eyes to find something to ensure he’s grounded in the present, but all he could do was burn holes in the back of Rose’s vault suit with his heated gaze, barely noticing his feet passing through the threshold of her pre-war home.

Rose sits on the couch, pulling him to sit by her. He sees a new shine in her blue irises -- tears threatening to well over.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong, Sunshine?” Hancock’s hands move of their own volition, wiping the tears from her cheeks as they spill over. She’s fighting them and losing, and seems frustrated.

“I-- I’m sorry if I, if I made you uncomfortable or-- if you aren’t interested in me, I understand.” This time, she’s the one swiping at the tears furiously, sniffling with a pitiful huff.

“Quite the opposite, love,” Hancock’s gravelly tone drops to a soft whisper, and he pulls her in for a short, chaste kiss. There’s that warmth again, a soft heat that characterizes every atom of her existence, and he wants more. His hands grasp her shoulders in an attempt to quell his feral instincts. “But come on, you sure you want to be stuck with this ugly mug? To wake up to this face every day?”

Rose giggles and there it is-- her full blown, blindingly, sickeningly brilliant smile. Hancock’s sure now: this is one hell of a jet trip. One he hopes will last.

“Who I fall in love with is my decision.” There’s a confidence in her tone, one he’d never heard before. “And I love you, Hancock.”

He knows he wasn’t supposed to do this, to be with her. Hancock knows she deserves someone more wholesome, more like her, that can help her make this world better. But he’s a selfish ghoul, always has been, and wouldn’t let his ray of sunshine illuminate anyone else’s life except his.


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you sure you’re alright with being here?”

“For the last time--”

“Because, I mean, you can wait outside or I could bring Mac--”

“I ain’t backin’ down just ‘cause a bunch of tin cans can’t handle it.”

Rose hesitates as they stand outside the Boston Airport. She knows how the Brotherhood views ghouls, mutants: “abominations,” and isn’t exactly keen on letting Hancock come with her into the thick of it.

“Besides,” Hancock slinks an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side. His salacious grin should be illegal, Rose thinks, as he leans in close. “Remember Diamond City, love? I got you, mean right hook and all. I ain’t worried.” He presses a short, encouraging peck to the top of her head, earning a bright pink flush as response.

“If I deck any of these guys, they’ll throw me off the Prydwen.” Rose mutters. Hancock either hears her, or chooses to ignore her, stepping towards the gates to the airport with such utter confidence that Rose can’t help but be impressed. She is not far behind when the Knight at the entrance nods in Hancock’s direction.

“Behave yourself, freak.”

“Ain’t about to start now,” And despite the situation, despite the honest-to-goodness spite in her soul, she can’t help but find Hancock’s fire and quick wit _incredibly_ attractive. Him and his damn charisma.

Rose strides along after him, oblivious to the knight, as they make their ascent to the massive balloon that is the Prydwen, steel glory and all. She dreads having to meet with Maxson, but knows alerting him to the attack on Bunker Hill is the right thing to do. She knows her pre-war morals have no place in a postwar world, yet somehow persists in sticking by them.

They are almost to the flight deck when a sentry turns to her this time, disgust inherent in every syllable. “Is that thing _tame_?”

“Why don’t we find out?” The words leave her lips so fast that she doesn’t realize she said them, Hancock wide-eyed with pride and something… else.

“Nah, come on, love, ain’t worth our time,” He gently nudges her along, arm around her shoulders as he leads her to their destination. Although calm in appearance, his fingers grip tightly, whether from anger or anticipation, Rose isn’t sure.

“Hey, come on, now,” She whispers, gentle as she stops them just outside Maxson’s usual post. The knights usually on guard were absent, most likely on a shift change, and Rose’s voice is soft as she faces him. “You sure you’re alright?”

“More than alright, love,” Hancock’s rough tone drops to a near whisper as he leans down slightly so they’re eye-level, taking her cheeks in his palms. Rose’s cheeks answer with a heat of their own as his lips meet hers.

This was hardly the place or the time, but she and Hancock hadn’t exactly had much time to, well, relax since Sanctuary. Every pent up frustration and desire pours out of Rose upon the contact, and soon enough, she’s knocked Hancock’s tricorner hat to the floor, arms hooked around his neck as he responds with equal enthusiasm. Small moans of pleasure escape her lips as Hancock’s rough hands caress her sides, his attentions now turned to her neck as he gently nips at the tender skin.

Rose is ready to take in every inch of him, hands roaming underneath his coat, until a gruff and extremely irritated Maxson interrupts.

“And just **what** exactly do you think you’re doing, Knight?” The title, in this case, serves as a reprimand, and Rose flushes at the intrusion. Hancock picks up his hat, putting it in its place atop his head as he grins, clearly enjoying the sheer horror on Rose’s face. “Associating with such filth? I expected better of you.”

“Oh, uh, I’m-- I’m sorry, Elder.” She’s all business despite her clear flustered state, but the quip at her companion tests her patience. Rose’s fingers twitch, yet she manages to keep a straight face as she explains the Bunker Hill situation. Maxson seems satisfied with the information despite her so-called “insubordinance” onboard the airship, and sends her on her way with little regard for Hancock’s presence.

“See? Two of us, world ain’t got a prayer, love.” The ghoul seems sickeningly pleased with himself as they board the vertibird to drop them back at the airport.

All Rose can do is scowl in his direction under the cacophony of the chopper, and pray to whatever gods listening that this wonderful, salacious ghoul wouldn’t be the death of her.


	12. Chapter 12

Rose hadn't thought about the old world in weeks.

Up until very recently, her sole purposes in life had been Nate, Shaun, her upcoming medical career-- she decorated their new house in pumpkins and skeletons for Halloween, and Codsworth helped her with their new herb garden in the backyard.

Now, her son is a stranger, in charge of the most hated faction in the Commonwealth, and her husband lies dead in a makeshift grave; their house, their life, in ruins. Rose can’t bear to meet Shaun’s eyes again, to see Nate’s eyes staring into hers. Shaun looks so much like his father it’s almost painful, and with every visit to the Institute her gut twists into knots of both guilt and betrayal.

“You look so much like your father, honey,” Rose’s words pass her lips as a whisper. She's surprised when Shaun looks up from his notepad, quizzical as his brown eyes meet her blue ones.

“Yes, I've seen photos of him from military records.” There it is again: that tone, droll and unfeeling, without pity. He looks back to the notepad, but seems engaged as he continues. “It seems his genes were primarily dominant in nature, although I'd like to think I inherited your knack for the sciences, mother.”

The mirth in his voice catches her off guard. Shaun's tone sounds genuine and even slightly proud as he scribbles hastily in his notepad, and Rose fights back the lump in her throat. Her son had yet to express any sense of attachment to her, to his father, and now, in his moment of rare humanity, Rose does her best not to think about the Minutemen, the Railroad, the Brotherhood-- and the hundreds of people that want this old man, her son, dead at her feet.

An hour later she is back in the wastes, back at Sanctuary, sitting by Nate’s grave. Never in her life had she been so utterly torn between right and wrong. Rose knows what path to take, what she hopes will be best for the Commonwealth, but doesn't like the answer, the corroborative damage that will undoubtedly be caused because of it. Her son: dead.

“Oh, Nate, what should I do?” She knows he can't answer, but she can't help but wonder where he is, what he's doing now, and if he's watching her and Shaun … somewhere.

“What's eatin’ at ya, doll?” Hancock’s voice startles Rose so much that she fumbles for her laser rifle a brief instant, exhaling heavily at the sight of her beloved mayor. He drops to sit beside her, silent, as he looks up at the passing clouds. She would be content to sit here with him, silent, but the battle raging inside her threatens to tear her to pieces.

“It’s just--” Rose pauses. Nate’s makeshift cross at his grave strains against a cold gust of wind. “What do you think will happen to the Commonwealth? In the end?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘the end,’ sister,” Hancock lights a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind. He offers her one as well, and despite all of her schooling to the contrary, Rose takes her chances and accepts Hancock’s light, coughing slightly at the new sensation.

“I mean, the end, after the Institute is gone. That seems like what everyone wants to happen.” And it was true, Rose knows no one that approves of the Institute’s methods, knows no one who would be happy to have the Institute as the primary power in the Commonwealth.

“The Institute, sure. But what about after? There’ll still be others that need savin’, people who ain’t got the means to protect themselves. One boogeyman gone, there’s bound to be another at some point.” Rose appreciates that Hancock speaks plainly with her, but finds his answer frustrating.

“But wouldn’t it help to have them gone, even if just for a little while?” She knows she’s a hopeless idealist, that destroying her son’s work would only bring momentary peace in the Commonwealth, yet somehow convinces herself that it would do more than that. Rose wants to help make a difference, but in the scheme of it all, doesn’t know how.

“You’re too good for these chumps, Rosie.” Hancock both teases and attempts to console her. She takes another short, manageable drag from the cigarette, leaning into Hancock’s side in defeat. “Whatever you choose, I’ll be here beside ya.”

Rose watches the smoke rise from her lips into the breeze, and looks back at Nate’s grave. The wind gusts and billows, the chill passing straight through her, and she swears she hears Nate’s voice. “Keep her safe,” he seems to say, and the breeze subsides, a cold silence between them. Rose is sure she imagined it, but Hancock’s posture changes.

“Heh. Don’t have to tell me twice.” He slinks an arm around her waist. Rose’s head drops onto his shoulder, and she wonders how, across time and space, she could get this lucky twice.


End file.
